


ultra-colour

by rostovslover



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, a makeout, some neck kissing, talk of blinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rostovslover/pseuds/rostovslover
Summary: Roger asks you to do his makeup, you’re taken aback by how nice he looks.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader, Roger Taylor (Queen)/You
Kudos: 10





	ultra-colour

**Author's Note:**

> the way this was so hard to write and for literally no reason, anyways - enjoy!

Roger was perched on the cold bathroom counter, eyes bleary and hair messy, a mug of hot tea clutched in his hands. Although not fully awake yet he had started to perk-up, rambling about a new song Fred was working on, the gig they played last night, the latest thing Brian had done to bother him. You listened intently, smearing translucent pearly powder over your eyelid. Despite not being a morning person at all he enjoyed the mornings like these, where he could talk about anything on his mind. There was also the added perk of watching you, perhaps his favourite part. He would occasionally pause during his rant, sipping hot tea and fawning over you over the rim of his mug. He liked watching you do your makeup, smearing translucent pearly shadow over your eyelids.

Roger set down his mug and picked up a small black tube, BIBA MASCARA BLACK written across it in big gold letters. He rolled it between his fingers, untwisting the cap and pulling out the wand, “(Name)?”

You looked at him through the mirror, closing the lid to your eyeshadow tin, “Rog?”

“Would you-” He gestured the mascara out to you, “Would you do my makeup?”

It wasn’t a shocking request, he often wore stage makeup but he always did that himself so hearing him ask you threw you of kelter a bit, “Of course,” You smiled at him, “Could you scooch to the edge there so I can stand between your legs?”

He did as requested, setting his hands on your hips as you got settled, “Getting between my legs already-” He shook his head, “At least buy me dinner first.”

You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead, “Hush,”

Roger grumbled, rubbing at the spot as you gathered a few products, “What’re you using?” He asked, leaning to look at what you were doing.

You presented him with a small palette filled with an assortment of pigmented powders, “You pick.”

Roger considered, very seriously, for a few moments before deciding on a pretty rose colour, “That’s nice, I like that one,”

Cradling his cheek and turning his face towards you, you went to work brushing the pigment over his eyelids. He sat still, uncharacteristically patient as you carefully applied the colour. He began to get fidgety, one hand drifting to the hem of your sweater and rolling the material between his fingers. The brush clicked on the linoleum bathroom counter and he opened his eyes, watching as you set down the eyeshadow and rooted around for something else.

“Can you look at the ceiling for me?” You asked, brandishing the tube of mascara he had been playing with.

He rolled his eyes and looked up, “If you blind me with that I may have no choice but to leave you.”

“I have done this several times and I have yet to lose an eye, you should be just fine.” You unscrewed the lid, dousing the spool in viscous black product, “On the off chance I do blind you though, where exactly do you plan on leaving me to?”

“Brian’s,” The retort was very matter-of-fact.

“Yeah?” You snorted, running the mascara wand up over his long eyelashes. You slid the wand back in and ran a thumb under his eye, wiping away a bit of loose powder.

He looked back at you, taking in the soft pink on your cheeks and nose bridge. A cocky smile graced his features, knowing it was him who had done it, “You alright?”

“Hush,” You rolled your eyes, a thrust a lipstick in his face, “Look at me.”

“I’m really a bit worried you’ll overheat.” His thumb brushed over your cheek to emphasize his point.

You batted at his hand, “Open your mouth would you?”

He did, obviously repressing a remark. You held his chin, tilting his head up to run the colour over his lips. His tongue darted out to taste it and he recoiled when it was bitter, not at all like the soft vanilla scent. Roger could feel the powdery eyeshadow and smooth lipstick, very different from his typical stage eyeliner. And you, the blush had spread down past the neck of your top. He stared, eyes running over your face, down your neck, following the scarlet dusted over your features and in that moment Roger was as captured with you as you were with him. He slid his slender fingers around your wrist, tugging softly, “Come here,”

You leaned forwards, noses bumping as you kissed. Roger’s hands were warm, something you hadn’t fully noticed until now, one of them running up the side of your neck, slipping into your hair to get more leverage. He nipped at your top lip, tongue slipping into your mouth. He tasted like toothpaste and the Marlboros he had smoked last night and it was simply him, Roger. He pulled back, pecking the corner of your mouth and starting down the side of your neck. He grinned when you gasped, teeth scraping against your soft skin as he gently sucked at the spot, hand braced on the other side of your neck. He looked up at you through thick, mascara coated lashes, tongue grazing over the mark he left.

Your fingers carded through his shaggy, unbrushed, blond hair, “I love you.” The words were soft, almost inaudible and he sat up, pressing his nose to your cheek to whisper in your ear.

“I love you too.”

There was a soft lull as he examined you. His brows furrowed, thumb brushing over one of the spots he kissed on your cheek, “Does lipstick stain?”

“It depends on the colour, why do you ask?”

“I-” He giggled nervously, “I got it all over your face.”


End file.
